It’s Better to be an Honest Arsehole than a Lying Cunt

So I’m flicking through Tinder one day when I get a match from a guy (whose name I can’t even remember, isn’t that terrible? Oops!) and he immediately opens with EXACTLY how ready he is for a zombie apocalypse.

Now, for those of you who are confused by why this particular topic keeps coming up, here is what my profile was on Tinder:

He responded with how he’s grown up with guns, knows how to build things and how to fight; all in this long and detailed description of how great an apocalypse-partner he’d be. I was pretty impressed. And for this reason, I donned him Apocalypse Guy.

I discovered that he was in his early thirties, Canadian, had a very special love affair with his motorbike, and often went on long bike-rides up and down the coast – just because. We spent days chatting about zombies, our shared love of The Walking Dead, psychology, ridiculous hypotheticals and why they’re totally possible; he was my kind of people. Within a week or so, we decided to meet in person and felt that Coogee Pavilion was the best place to start.

As I pulled into the car park I saw him waiting outside for me, wearing his leather jacket and holding a motorcycle helmet. Not bad, I thought. He was about 5’7″ (maybe 5’8″…?), had black unruly (albeit straightish) hair with a fringe that fell over his right eyebrow, and was a little stocky. I quite enjoy a man with a little extra (probably scar-tissue from The Bodybuilder).

Anyway, we hugged, cheek-kissed-hello, and wandered inside together. He bought us drinks and we got to talking about nothing in particular; zombies, his motorcycle etc. Within thirty mins we’d moved up to the roof so we could smoke (HE SMOKES! Thank FUCK for that.). Here, we got deep – a debate on why it’s not safe to fuck your friends (you know what my argument would have been), discussing our shared issues with monogamy, why it’s so important to be independent in a relationship, and how exclusivity (in the environment we had built for ourselves) was dumb.

I was like Yep, this one I can rely on to NOT fuck things up. 

I mean, look at it from my end! On our first date we’d learned that neither of us were looking for a relationship (tick); neither of us want to be exclusive (tick); we’re both just here to have fun with maybe some sex on the side (tick, tick). I was over the moon. Do you know how hard it is to find MEN who want these things?

Don’t let them fool you, ladies. Men may SAY they don’t want exclusivity, but that doesn’t mean they want anyone else to have you. Be VERY careful here. And boys, that goes for you too. Most women will say yes just because it’s what you want, and completely believe, the whole time, you’ll eventually want her forever. Be CAREFUL with each other! Ugh! But I digress.

So I started bringing Apocalypse Guy into my circle of friends as “my current guy” (that was the other great thing; no fucking labels. We were just two people who liked the same things and sometimes had sex. It was great.). Now, he wasn’t the most humble man I’d ever met. In fact he was quite the narcissist. Tori took particular issue with him upon their first meeting. I’m pretty sure the argument started over a porn star she thought he resembled (which he was horrified at – because of THE porn star she’d chosen, not because she was comparing him TO a porn star) and turned into an all-out war. She tried to warn me something wasn’t right. She outright said she hated him. But I was like “It’s not like I’m DATING the guy, who gives a fuck?”. Plus, he was pretty decent in bed. That’s also hard to find.

From memory, this situationship went on for about two months. All the while knowing we’re both chatting to/seeing other people. All the while catching up when we had the chance and having our fun – and it was fun. Until the dick went ahead and ruined it…

One night, after meeting me out with a few friends he came back to my place (as was the norm by this stage), I’d gone into my bathroom and came out wearing nothing but a silk robe. He just smiled at me and tapped the bed without a word, as if to say “Come sit by me”. So I wandered over to the bed and sat down next to him. Then he just started rambling. About sheer shit at first. Like, how he likes to ride up and down the coast on his motorbike and how freeing that is.

I’m like, Is this guy for real? I’m naked under this thing and he wants to talk about his love for being one with nature…?

Realising his drunken ramble may go on for a while, I laid myself down and continued to listen. I am a lady, after all. Besides, something told me he had something to get off his chest.

So on he rambles about these long rides and how “there’s something about being in a tent in a rainforest while it’s pissing down outside”, and by this point I’m only half listening. Instead I’m wondering if there would be ANY sex that night; I was starting to fall asleep… It wasn’t until he said the words “Anyway, I feel like we’re good enough friends now that I can tell you this.”, that I began to actually listen. Sentences like that are generally followed by things like “I have feelings” and “How do you feel about being exclusive?”, or “This one time, I killed a man”.

Instead he followed up with, “I’m married”.

My eyes snapped open. “Oh?” I said, feeling adrenaline start to pump itself furiously through my veins.  I thought to myself, If the next words out of his mouth aren’t “…but we’re separated.”, it’ll be me confessing to friends that “This one time, I killed a man.”.

I waited.

His pause seemed to carry on forever.

Meanwhile, my mind was whirring. Surely he can’t be MARRIED-married. Like, ACTUALLY married. I’ve been to his apartment. His motorbike-parts-all-over-the-loungeroom, nothing-in-the-fridge-but-booze-and-out-of-date-cheese, bathroom-littered-in-pubes-and-mould, bachelor-pad. Not a single trace of a woman. No make up in the bathroom, no perfume or jewellery in the bedroom, no high heels scattered in the entrance-way or corridor; nothing. Just this man who likes to have empty sex with women and who, seemingly, lives alone. Surely he can’t be MARRIED-married.

At some point during my erratic, mental-detective-ing he’d started talking again. I tuned back in when he was talking about how they’d decided to take a break and ‘see other people’. Ok, so they WERE separated. I started to relax.

Now, I don’t know what drugs this guy was on that night but I could barely get a word in; motherfucker just kept talking about his wife and how she’s moved out and it all started over a threesome they’d had with another woman and his wife then decided she was more interested in women or (some shit like that) and I was getting tired again. The more he spoke, the more bored I became.

And then he said “So anyway, we’re looking at trying to work things out and-”

“Ohhhhhh-kaaaaayyyyy.”, I said, finally sitting up so I could wake myself up a little and try to understand what this idiot was actually trying to tell me. “Just to clarify, you aremarried.”
“Yes.”, he replied; a smile creeping up the corner of his mouth.
“But you’re separated…?” I continued, trying to translate.
“…not exactly.”, he said; smiling now.
“I don’t know what that means.” I said, feeling the adrenaline start to surge again.
“I’m married.”, he went on. “I’ve been married for (I can’t remember how many years he said). We’re not separated per se (fuck, I hate that term. Per se. Go fuck yourself.). More just taking a small break and looking at other options. We have an ‘open relationship’.”
“Hold on,” I said, starting to feel rage take over the adrenaline in my veins. “You’ve been married this WHOLE time and didn’t think it was a good idea to TELL me?”
“To be honest,” that smile was starting to fade “It’s my story and I only tell the people I feel comfortable enough telling – people I have a connection with. I have this with you.”
“Wow.”, was all I could muster.

My mind was reeling. And, being someone who needs to ‘process’ information before I can react/respond, I just sat there quietly thinking about the repercussions of what the fuck he was saying to me.

“I really didn’t expect this reaction from you,” he said suddenly, a twinge of defensiveness in his voice now. “You’re all about freedom and you hate monogamy. I thought you’d be fine with this.”
“What, with being your mistress? Does she even fucking know I exist?”
“Of course she does, we’re in an O P E N  R E L A T I O N S H I P. She knows about you.”

It was more than I could take. Is this cunt for real?

“Ok,” I said (my turn to get defensive), “If you’re in an O P E N  R E L A T I O N S H I P, where is your wedding ring? Why is there no trace of her in your apartment? And why the fuck did you not put ‘I N  A N  O P E N  F U C K I N G  R E L A T I O N S H I P’ on your Tinder profile?”

He held up his right hand and flailed around this piece of jewellery that looked like what you’d buy your boyfriend for his 16th birthday; some cheap-looking silver thing covered in black patterns that were embedded on the steel. Oh I see, I thought facetiously, I was supposed to assume it was a wedding ring, even though it was on the opposite hand (I can’t even remember if it was on the ‘ring finger’ of his right hand – but either way! He’s Canadian. Last I checked, they wear wedding rings on their LEFT hand over there.) and looked like a piece of shit. Right. 

He then said “And it’s not on my Tinder profile because we, my wife and I, decided not to advertise it.”.

Yep. Definitely sounds O P E N to me…

“Besides,” he continued, getting more and more defensive, “like I said, it’s MY story. I don’t HAVE to tell anyone.”
“Fine. But that doesn’t mean you get to choose FOR me about whether or not I want to be your MISTRESS. I don’t fuck other women’s men.”

I was furious. Is this guy for fucking real? Am I the one overreacting? There’s no way this is ok.

He then went on about how I’m not a mistress because the wife knows about me and how she’s not “always in a good space” (because, you know, she has a mental illness [!!!!!!!]) so “it’s not always safe” to talk about me but “she does KNOW and she’s fine with the whole thing. Most days. Like today.”

Rage Face - JACKIE CHAN


“What do you mean by that?” I asked, confused by his rambling and (ever so slightly) blinded by rage. “What do yo mean ‘most days she’s fine with it’?”
“Well, it’s her mental illness, see. Sometimes she’s fine but others she can’t hear about you. It sets her off. But on her good days she’s happy to hear everything. I even thought about the two of you meeting, maybe.”

Is. 
This.
Motherfucker.
For real.

“So, what you’re saying is,” I said, pointedly; heat rising up to my throat now, “When her mental illness isn’t keeping her captive in her own misery, she’s ok with you fucking other women – specifically me – but, when her illness is making her suicidal, she can’t hear about your sex life? Definitely sounds like an ‘open marriage’.”

Rage Face

From my memory that’s kind of where it ended. He’d said his piece; I was still working through mine. Tori reminded me the other day that I still had sex with him that night. My response to her was “….I did??”. I don’t even fucking remember it (LOL). Tori went through the details I’d given her the next day and reminded me that I’d said “…anyway, I still ended up fucking him and we went to sleep.”

NOPE! Not a single recollection of that happening. But if I told Tori…

The likely story is i was fuming but still wanted sex – that’s the only explanation I have.

Rage Face - AWKWARD LAUGH

ANYWAY. The next day, having processed all of the conversation from the night before, I realised the guy was a MAJOR cunt. What kind of human can do these things to other people? So I sent him a lengthy, (what I thought was) passive-aggressive text and ended things. I basically just said (and I’m paraphrasing) “Look, it’s been real but I just can’t handle the wife business. You’re married, it’s not right for me – your version of ‘freedom’ far outstretches my vision of it; I’m done. Thanks “.

Tori abused me for being too “nice” about it. She was like “FUCK THAT GUY! You should have told him to go eat a dick! He’s a fat fucking cheating piece of shit, blah blah blah”…she raged for quite some time.

Apocalypse and I went back and forth via text (of course) about “who was right and who was wrong” in this scenario, but at the end of the day I just wanted to make it clear to him (as he’d decided that the REAL reason I was ‘behaving’ like this was because I actually had feelings for him – bitch, please! Get the fuck out of here.); I don’t fuck other women’s men. End of story.

The very next day after I’d sent him the “it’s over” text, Tori saw Apocalypse and his wife at a cafe she frequents. Being Tori, she IMMEDIATELY texted me with fury over him being in HER cafe. And I haven’t heard from him since – though he does like my instagram pics from time to time (can someone PLEASE tell me how to block someone on Insta???).

I’m no longer angry at Apocalypse (I think). I’m happy he wanted to work things out with his wife. I hope they did. I don’t really think of him; it’s only when one of my arsehole friends reminds me it even took place that I feel the small twinges of rage start to warm up my fingertips. And then I look at where I am and the person I’ve become. And I don’t care about him.

A month after this debacle, Gentleman Jack and I matched on Tinder. A year later I’m celebrating love and commitment. Isn’t it funny how, in some ways, life comes full circle?

LESSONS:

  • Don’t be married. Or, if you are married AND are in an open relationship, BE OPEN ABOUT YOUR OPEN RELATIONSHIP. It’s all well and good for you to say it’s YOUR story and YOUR life, but these are MY (your) morals, and it’s MY (your) life.
  • You don’t get to decide FOR ME that I’m going to be a mistress. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I don’t judge people for the life they choose to live; be the other woman/man if you want. I simply choose not to live that way myself.
  • If you have yourself a wife or girlfriend, you’re only going to have a completely platonic relationship with me. Like a brother. Or a lamp.
  • You’re actually a fuckwit.
  • Whatever you do, don’t be THIS guy.

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